


Adrift

by Truth



Category: Sunshine - Robin McKinley
Genre: F/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: Bo was dead.  My troubles were supposed to be over.  I couldn’t even think that with a straight face, but at least I was leaning toward resigned, if dark, humour.  It beat panic and resignation.  I would choose to go forward, I would face my difficulties.I considered finding my pillow and doing some more screaming anyway.  Just to see if a second round would do more good.I knew that it wouldn’t.





	Adrift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jillyfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/gifts).



> This story does not contain a love triangle, though perhaps I was not as clear about it as I should've been.

I drove to work feeling entirely unmoored.  Like a small rowboat adrift somewhere in the midst of the vast sea.  Technically at home, a boat in the water, yet still bobbing along somewhere it had absolutely no business being and in imminent danger of sinking.

I’d spent the last few hours… walking.  I’d wandered through the forest with Constantine, without direction or conversation.  My vision had made it slightly more challenging than walking in the daylight, not that I was prone to unsupervised wandering in the woods at any time.  A few days ago, the thought of simply walking through the woods at night would’ve sent me to hide under my bed, curled up in a knot, quivering with desperate fear.

Even before the incident by the lake, I knew better than to simply wander in the woods.

I knew what waited in the night (I couldn’t say the dark, not anymore.  I was afraid that soon I’d forget what darkness was.). I knew the things that used the night to hunt and to hurt and to feed.

Now, I was walking through the night time forest with a one of those very things.  My companion was a vampire, one I didn’t really know or hope to understand - and it was oddly soothing.  

I refused to think about it.

We didn’t speak.  We didn’t touch, even when I stumbled.  I had no idea what I was doing, why I’d agreed to whatever this was, or why Constantine had decided that he wished to spend time with me.  There was no way to tell what his thought process was, and I strongly suspected that asking would not gain me an answer that either of us would understand.

Perhaps it could have been comforting, having a companion on the ocean of ignorance, bobbing along together with no real idea what the hell was happening to us.

It wasn’t.

We parted, still in silence.  Constantine vanished off to his cluttered, subterranean lair, and I got ready for work.

It’s strange to call it ‘work’, despite the fact that baking is my job.  Charlie’s tiny bakery with its huge ovens is the place I consider my home.  The heat of the ovens, the delicious smells that lead to amazing flavour combinations, and the fact that everything here is under my complete control - I can’t explain it any better than ‘home’.

 

Being there allows me to create, to command, to give myself free rein to simply  _ be _ .  To bake, and to indulge myself in every damn minute of the rushed, chaotic, production of the most delicious treats I can imagine.

I don’t bake fancy things.  Complex things, perhaps, when I’m in the mood.  Labour intensive things, when I feel the urge. I usually regret it right away.  Damn cherries. I bake  _ food _ .  Occasionally food that’s not exactly good for you, or is exactly the opposite.  

  
But I do bake.

I’m not sure I’d say that I love it.  It feels like my purpose. Flour and yeast and sugar and the wrestling and coaxing of them into something delicious causes a bone deep satisfaction, an anchoring of myself and my place in the world.  Charlie gave me structure and a warm, welcoming place where I could provide various foodstuffs for people who loved them, add to the warmth and the welcome.

I’m not really comfortable attempting to pin down when that shifted to the past tense.

At my most exhausted, my most lost, my most miserable, digging my hands into a stiff dough and forcing it to bend to my will brings a warmth that has nothing to do with the ovens or the heat of the day.  Baking is what I  _ want _ to do.

The rest of my life is just what surrounds that act.

Despite the best attempts of various vampires, the SOF, and my mother, baking remains my center.  It’s become a lot harder to hold to that center, but I refuse to let anyone get between me and my baking.  Cinnamon rolls, muffins, scones, and the strange inventions that I let Aimil name… those were the vital and important things to  _ me _ .  The rest of the world could stay firmly outside the walls of Charlie’s Coffeehouse and leave me this one, vital thing.

Of course, none of the aforementioned people had any intention of respecting my desire to be left alone with my baking.  Not that I expected any of them to do so. Especially my mother. 

Surprisingly, and for the first time in my life, my mother was the least determined of those who wanted to drag me from my sanctuary.

  
I can’t tell you how utterly terrifying that is.  For the first time in my life I actually want to talk to her about the things we’d never, ever discussed - and she was actively giving me space.  A larger red flag has never flown.

I’m very good at ignoring the things I don’t want to think about.  Usually.

All of my mother’s probable worst fears about and for her daughter (and a few I’m sure she hadn’t even entertained) had all come true, and I hadn’t even managed to sit down for a civil conversation with her about any of it.  We hadn’t even  _ shouted _ about it, which was far more alarming.

My boyfriend was probably some sort of sorcerer, and I loved him, but I didn’t know how to communicate with him.  I hadn’t talked to him alone since - 

Put the loaf trays in the oven.  Concentrate.

 

The Goddess of Pain was attempting to find some method to drag me back into the SOF and keep me there, if only because it would allow her to interrogate me about ‘Malcolm Connor’.

Constantine was… well, he was lurking somewhere nearby, I was certain of that.  I didn’t know if he’d actually put time and effort into supporting his story as Mr. Connor, but I was certain the Goddess of Pain had already sent -

Oh would you look at that!  Time to take the Orange-Date Tea Bread out of the oven.  Then there would be scones. And then….

Baking makes me happy.  It gives me a place and an activity that is under my total control.  I don’t have to worry about secrets, or the Others, or the fact that I didn’t know what to tell Mel, or that -

_ Scones _ .

It was my first day back at work after… everything.  Charlie had seen to it that everyone gave me space, and I had no intention of venturing out of my safe, warm bakery into the cafe proper.  I was here to bake. Not to worry about, about anything. Or anyone. Or my relationship. Or being arrested. Or -

“Sunshine, what are you doing?”

The answer to the question was pretty obvious, actually.  I was standing before the ovens, staring off into space and burning my lemon rosemary scones to a crisp.  With an undignified shriek, I lunged for the ovens, jerking them open and getting a face full of smoke for my trouble.

After I’d finished coughing and wheezing, depositing the pans of scones on the heat-resistant racks, I -

“Sit down.”  

I’d spaced out so badly that I’d not only missed Mel’s entrance, I’d managed to forget he was there entirely.  Blinking, I allowed him to steer me to the chair in the corner and gently sit me down.

“Sunshine… I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because we both know that you’re not, but -”  

Mel and I didn’t discuss things.  We didn’t discuss my recent adventures.  We didn’t discuss my past. We didn’t discuss Mel’s past.  We glossed over Mel’s tattoos and my lack of family history on my father’s side.  We both liked it that way.

Didn’t we?

I fought for focus.  “Mel, are you a sorcerer?”

_ Not _ what I’d meant to say, rude and invasive and everything our relationship wasn’t.

He frowned at me, reaching to gently skim the top of the scar where a beautiful necklace had once rested.  “It’s just a label, Sunshine. Magic… changes things.”

“I saw you,” to continue the theme of simply blurting things out in the wrong manner and at the wrong time and place.  “When - when I was in No Town.”

Mel nodded, still gently tracing my skin.  It wasn’t quite the way he rubbed at his tattoos, not an expression of tension, but one of soothing.  I closed my eyes. “I  _ saw _ you.”

“I saw you too.”

And there it was.  Because Mel had been alone, drawing on his magic, the magic we never, ever talked about, to support me while I struggled to stay alive.  I hadn’t been alone, and the things which we’d done -

“Breathe.”  His fingers moved gently against my skin, trailing lines of warmth.  “Just breathe, Sunshine. We have a lot to talk about, I guess.”

“You guess.” The words felt like lead in my mouth, foul and heavy.  “I - I have to finish -”

“No you don’t.  Charlie called Paulie the minute he saw you.  No one expected you to be here today, and Paulie’s sitting in the cafe, waiting to see how long it’ll take you to go home and maybe get some real rest.”  Mel looked up at me, determined - and I had no idea what to do, or what to say.

I didn’t want to leave my sanctuary.  I didn’t want to let someone else make my cinnamon rolls, knead the dough - It felt too much as though my life and my control of it were slipping through my fingers, and if I relaxed my grip for the briefest of moments, it would all be snatched away entirely.

My power was sunshine and my affinity was vampires, but baking was my  _ choice _ .  It was what I loved, and I might be at the mercy of the unfeeling universe but baking was something that was mine alone.  It was as much a part of me as my bones and my blood and maybe I should go home, because judging by Mel’s expression, I’d said at least half of that out loud.

“I’ll take you home, and we can talk.”

I hadn’t lasted three hours.  It was barely seven am, and I couldn’t focus, couldn’t lose myself in my most beloved activity, in the heat and the creation of delicious, bready goodness.  I’d been lost before I ever set foot in my domain, and not in a good way.

Mel didn’t try to put me on his motorcycle, instead taking my keys and steering me into the Wreck.  We didn’t speak as he drove me home. I couldn’t think of what to say, and I felt even more adrift the longer the silence lasted.  Before we reached the turn to Yolande’s, Mel pulled over. I waited, not as surprised as I should have been, watching him pull a charm from one pocket and hang it on my rearview mirror.

“Sunshine - can you tell me why Pat showed up at my door yesterday and kept me out all night constructing a completely falsified real estate rental record for one Malcolm Connor?”

“What?”  Not the best response, but all that I was capable of at that moment.  Surprise was too mild a word for the feeling gripping me. Shock wasn’t quite evocative enough.

Mel sighed, rubbing at his shoulder.  “Pat, your odd friend from the SOF?”

“Not the part that concerns me.”

“Not the part that concerns me, either.  Who is Malcolm Connor, and why doesn’t he exist?”

I found myself staring at the little charm, hanging and vibrating happily from the rearview mirror.  I could tell him. I could tell Mel. I could just… let everything go, I could lean on him, I could -

The words wouldn’t leave my mouth.  I wanted, desperately to tell Mel  _ everything _ .  Every moment of pain and doubt and horror, letting go of the feeling of being lost and out of my depth.

I couldn’t do it.  Everything I wanted from Mel, the comfort and acceptance - I could have it.  But the cost would most likely be Constantine’s… I wouldn’t call it life. Existence? At the very least, I would never be able to call for him again - and when had _that_ become one of my worries? Concentrate, Sunshine.

if anything went wrong, the SOF would be the least of my worries. Everyone would want to kill me. Everyone. I was going to have to bear that risk. I'd already passed the point of no return, had made my choice when I decided not to leave. If I were to tell Mel - then he'd share that fate. I told myself that, ignoring the fact that Mel probably already knew and was carefully not pressing me for more than I felt I could tell him. I wanted to tell him, I wanted that so badly. But I couldn’t do it, and very deliberately didn’t try to decide why. I settled for a version of the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Mel watched me, curious, but without judgement.  “You don’t know?”

“I met him when we were both chained to a wall out by the lake.”  I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. “We escaped together, helped each other, but I really don’t know anything about him.”

That wasn’t as much of a lie as it could’ve been.  Most of what I knew about Constantine began and ended with the fact that he was a vampire.  I didn’t know what had been behind Bo’s hatred, or what his plan had really been when he’d had his minions attempt to feed me to Con.  I didn’t know why Constantine was different, or even how different he actually was. I didn’t know why he was alone, at his age and with his apparent power.  I could talk for hours about the things I  _ didn’t _ know about Constantine.

Not that it made any difference, really.

Mel was silent, the sort of silence I normally found comforting.

I opened my eyes, swallowing hard against a knot in my throat.  “I do know that I owe him my life, and he owes me his. I know that he lied to the SOF, mostly to keep them from executing him on the spot.  I know that he’s Other, and that the old vampire hated him - but I don’t know who he  _ is _ .”

That was safe enough to admit.  Mel had to know that Pat was part demon, especially if he was working on forgery and/or magic for him.  Being Other wasn’t the death sentence that being a very particular  _ sort _ of Other was - and Mel knew I wasn’t anything like human anymore either.  Not that a sorcerer could throw many stones on that basis anyway, but -

“All right.”  Mel sighed. He reached out to touch my face, giving me a rueful smile.  “Will you be careful, Sunshine?”

It felt like I had betrayed him, despite the fact that nothing between us had changed. Nothing but the monster I couldn't seem to walk away from. That I didn't want to walk away from. It felt like good-bye. I nodded, still fighting the knot in my throat.  “I will.”

“Get some rest.  Pat is watching your back as far as the SOF is concerned.  Malcolm, whoever he is, now has a past and a piece of property at the lake.  It should be enough to hold against most scrutiny. You, on the other hand,” and there were lines of worry on his brow, “you need to stay low and quiet.  Pat is really worried about you.”

I hated seeing those lines, hated more that I was the cause and that if Pat was worried, I was definitely not worried  _ enough _ .  “I’ll be careful.”

“Be more than careful.  Stay home for a few days.  The wards here should keep out anyone you really don’t want to see.  Up to and including the SOF.”

I nodded, hearing the warning in the words.  Of course Mel would recognize the strength and artistry of Yolande’s wards… and that anyone who walked through them would require an invitation.

Normally I would fight against being protected and fretted over to my last breath.  I felt that I was letting Mel down. Betraying Pat’s trust. Leaving Charlie to cope again (still) with my absence. Shutting Mel out of my life.  “I will.”

He didn’t walk me to the door.  He did wait until I had opened it and stepped inside before putting the Wreck through a three point turn and vanishing back in the direction of the cafe.  I made my way slowly up the stairs, feeling even more adrift and exhausted down to my bones. My sanctuary hadn’t protected me from the things I wanted protection from.  I hadn’t been able to concentrate on my baking - something which I held an absolute faith in had let me down.

I didn’t know how to feel, didn’t really want to feel, and I toed off my shoes and crawled into bed.  I texted Charlie, letting him know that I still needed a few days off. He politely pretended that he didn’t already know, and assured me that they would manage without me until I felt well enough to come back.

Feeling hollow and cold, I curled under my blankets and fell asleep.

**

Emotional turmoil takes a lot out of you.  Possibly not as much as facing certain death, or being poisoned by vampires, but I slept the entire day away and most of the night.  After the dream of my grandmother, I had expected more dreams or nightmares. I didn’t remember dreaming, habit waking me in time for my usual morning shift.

Which I wasn’t going to actually work.

I dragged my pillow over my head and screamed into it.  It didn’t make me feel any better, but I hadn’t really expected it to.  I lay there for several minutes, pillow pressed to my face, wondering just what I was supposed to do with my day.  

Mel had taken the Wreck, so unless I wanted to call someone for a ride, I had extremely limited options.  Although…?

I pulled myself out of bed and shambled to the balcony, peering out and down the road.  Yep, there was a car lurking there, probably thinking they were nicely inconspicuous in the pre-dawn darkness.  Well, they had another think coming. The SOF apparently had nothing better to do than lurk about outside my home, probably in hopes that I’d be silly enough to leave.  That expectation effectively killed any desire I had to leave. It also limited my options.

I could see if Yolande wanted company.  I  _ could _ tell her about everything that had happened.  Unlike with Mel, however, I didn’t particularly want to.  I wasn’t proud of what I’d done. I had managed to move past the belief that I’d stained myself forever, ruined the person I used to be.  That didn’t mean I wanted to revisit any of it. I’d done enough of that in my dreams. I would tell her, eventually. Just - not today.

I wandered through my tiny apartment, eventually finding myself in the kitchen.  I didn’t really use it for much. I tended to either eat at work or bring food home with me, and for all that I lived here, this wasn’t  _ my _ kitchen.

Thanks to Charlie and my mother, I did have a basic pantry.  I rarely felt the urge to bake in my own kitchen, partly because by the time I managed to get here, that itch had been firmly scratched.  It was possible, though.

Half an hour later, I was happily puttering and cleaning while my dough occupied itself with rising.  I felt… better. I would have my cinnamon rolls, and everything would smell delicious and familiar. Plus, they would act as a bribe for Yolande to not ask any questions until I was ready to answer them.

It would have the added bonus of overwhelming some of the smell of roses that my very skin was probably infused with by now.  It’s a pleasant smell, but… foreign to  _ my _ place.  Cinnamon would help.

Maybe I should do some laundry?  Oh. Oooh. Laundry. Clothing. Not enough clothing.  Closet. Things in my closet that I should probably find a new home for.  I was not planning to track any more vampires through the ether - so to speak.  I could take all the com gear out and put it somewhere more practical. I could have access to my clothes again!

Look at me, being all productive.  Give me another few days and I might manage to impersonate a responsible, adult human.

Unlikely, but possible.

I dragged everything out of the closet, everything that didn’t belong, and tidied it away.  I definitely felt better. More in control of my life. Boldened by this minor success, I decided to organize the closet.  

My new feeling of control and freedom, bolstered by the faint smell of dough and cinnamon in the air, lasted right up until my fingers closed against fabric that certainly didn’t belong in  _ my _ wardrobe.

The shirt.

I let the soft fabric slip between my fingers, deliberately not thinking about anything in particular.  It was remarkably successful, as I was jolted from my not thinking by the sound of a timer going off in the kitchen.  Abandoning Constantine’s shirt and any attempted contemplation as to why it was still hanging in the back of my closet, I retreated to the kitchen.  

Yeast waits for no one.

I made my cinnamon rolls (not as perfect as the ones I could produce with the ingredients, overnight rise, and industrial ovens at Charlie’s, but still adequate and tasty).  I cleaned my closet, avoiding the shirt and the somewhat battered gown in the back. I packed up some of the rolls and placed them outside Yolande’s door with a note that I’d like to talk to her when I was feeling more settled.

I read six chapters of a book involving forbidden magic and doomed lovers (because of course they were) and retained absolutely none of it.

By the time night fell, I’d scrubbed the kitchen, made an actual dinner out of noodles and marinara sauce and leafy greens from Yolande’s garden, taken a bubble bath, and ended up sprawled out on my balcony, eying my SOF minders with a malevolent sort of sullenness.

I was going to have to get hold of Pat.  I needed to know what he and Mel had done and  _ why _ he’d done it.  I knew Pat was fond of me.  All of ‘our’ SOF people were.  I also knew he wanted to spite the Goddess of Pain.  None of that added up to his preemptively building a fake identity for Con to cover the strange man they’d found me with after the suspicious slaughtering death of an entire gang of vampires.

Something more was going on, and I needed to know what it was before I set foot out in the great wide world, where the less-friendly SOF might leap out at me.

Bo was dead.  My troubles were supposed to be over.  I couldn’t even think that with a straight face, but at least I was leaning toward resigned, if dark, humor.  It beat panic and resignation. I would choose to go forward, I would face my difficulties.

I considered finding my pillow and doing some more screaming anyway.  Just to see if a second round would do more good.

I knew that it wouldn’t.

Grumbling, I pulled myself to my feet.  I would ask for someone to bring me groceries, and tomorrow I would make muffins.  Something experimental. I would scrub my floors and clean my windows and possibly see if I could get a message to Pat without attracting the attention of the Goddess of Pain.

I took myself to bed.  My pillow was not auditorily assaulted, despite the temptation, and I slept.

I didn’t wake as early this time, though my sleep still seemed dreamless.  

I cleaned and I puttered and I ignored the world outside my apartment.  In the afternoon, Charlie brought back the Wreck. Taking in the SOF contingent out at the road, he went back into town and found me groceries - far more than I needed.  He left, after making me promise to save a muffin for evaluation later, and promised to drop a word in Pat’s ear. I spent an hour or so putting everything away and planning my experimental muffins.

I made an indulgent lunch of avocado spread on fresh bread from the bakery I was currently banned from.  Charlie had brought me fresh fruit as well, and I munched happily on berries as I sprawled again on the balcony, behind a carefully draped blanket so I could keep an eye on the SOF while still pretending they didn’t exist.

I fell asleep there, happily drowsing in the warm sun, sheltered from any wayward breezes by my blanket.  

I woke up with a sore back, aching joints, and the distinct memory of why sleeping on floors will probably spark vague nightmares for the rest of my life.  Which will apparently be a long one, as long as I manage to survive all the things I am having nightmares about.

Speaking of which.

“Where are you, Con?”  I could feel him, somewhere nearby.  I had no idea what time it was, but night had fallen some time ago, judging by the coolness in the air and the brightness of the moon.

A moment later, he was standing on the balcony by my feet.  I didn’t jump, but it was a near thing. Exposure to Constantine should have made the eeriness wear off, or so you’d think.  I knew it never would. He was too large, too  _ still _ when he wasn’t moving with that predatory smoothness that set the small hairs at the back of my neck tingling.  

“I did not intend to disturb you.”

I blinked up at him, shivering a little from the chill in the air - and a little from the complete lack of humanity.  I knew Con had once been human, a very long time ago, but it was hard to believe.

“What’re you doing here?”  Not my best or politest effort, but if he was going to creep around while I slept, I felt I could relax on the courtesy front.

“Your… friends.”  As if the concept were totally foreign to him.  Which, to be fair, it was.

I slowly pulled myself to my feet, wincing a bit as my back reminded me that I wasn’t a teenager anymore.  “What about them?” 

“They have been busy.”  It was hard to read Constantine, but - that didn’t seem like disapproval.

“Busy?”  A moment later it clicked.  “Ah. The ‘Malcolm Connor’ thing.”  I padded inside, looking for a sweater.

“They found Malcolm’s tax records.”

I wondered if I should be surprised that Constantine had tax records attached to a pseudonym I’d thought made up spur on the moment.  It didn’t quite fit with his cavernous lair full of antiques and strange artifacts. I knew that vampires used technology and were supposed to be miles ahead of humans, but my mind balked at imagining  _ Constantine _ doing so.    “Tax records,” I repeated, for lack of anything better to say.

“I do not choose to walk among humans.”  I supposed I didn’t really qualify, so I held my peace, waiting through one of his unsettling pauses.  “That does not mean I am not prepared, should it become a necessity. As it did.”

I thought about that.  About how old Constantine was, about how much Bo had hated him, and for how long.  About the measures Bo had taken to catch him and hold him, with wards even I’d thought were overkill.  That much fear and hate - to steer clear of a creature like Bo and his gang of lesser vampires, Con must’ve had quite a few contingency plans and I wondered again at how little I knew.  I wanted to know more.

“So they found Malcom’s tax records?”  I thought about Pat and about Mel. “They used magic to convince people that you’d been seen.  Near the lake. Recently.”

“Yes.”

“Do - do they think he’s human?”

“No.”

I waited, but that seemed to be the end of it, as so many of Con’s proclamations of the negative petered out.

“So you’re here because they rented you a house by the lake?”

I wasn’t even surprised when I looked up from my sweater to find Con looming over me.  It had just become what he did - moving too quickly for me to actually see it, and just… being huge and intimidating.  I was actually becoming used to it. Another of those enormous red flags. It was starting to feel like a parade.

“I want to know why.”

Fair enough.  “So do I.” I shrugged.  “M - my boyfriend might have done it for me, but I don’t know what Pat’s motives are.  Other than to upset the Goddess of Pain.”

“The - who?”  Surprise was a strange thing to hear in a vampire’s voice.

“Pat’s boss.  Deputy exec Jain.  That - the woman who was so determined to keep us locked up by the SOF forever.”

“Ah.”

I eyed him warily.  “What does that mean?”

 

“It means that she expects reports.  In triplicate.”

I winced.  “We need to figure out what to tell her.”

He was holding several sheets of paper out to me, sheets I hadn’t seen in his hands a moment ago.  I  _ was _ getting used to that, too.  I should probably be more worried about that. I took the pages, glancing at the contents.  Con’s handwriting greeted me, covering each page with a brief, concise set of utter lies.  Convincing lies. Lies that supported our previous conversation with the goddess, while still relying heavily on ‘I don’t remember’ and ‘I don’t know’ heavily enough to not look scripted.  Apparently his lack of communication was limited to the spoken word.

“... when did you write this?”

“Last night.”  He had vanished, and his voice came from behind me.  I turned to find him examining my leftover cinnamon rolls.

I knew he couldn’t eat them, but Con was curious.  At least when chained to a wall and slowly going mad.  Maybe it was a consistent personality trait.

“So my account just has to support yours.”

“Yes.  I made another copy for the SOF and posted them this morning.”  Another of those pauses and, had I thought him capable of it, I might’ve thought he was suppressing a laugh.  “From the closest post office to the south eastern side of the lake.”

I blinked at him, mildly impressed.  I turned my attention back to the pages.  “... and you were on your way out of town, apparently.”

“She cannot interrogate Malcolm if he vanishes.”

 

“Sound logic.  She can interrogate me, though.”  I shivered. I was not looking forward to that.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”  I sighed.  “Do you remember what it was like to be human?”

“No.”  He was looming over me again.  “There is nothing left of humanity when someone is taken.  We are Other.”

I frowned up at him, fingers tightening against the papers.  “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”  Constantine reached out to gently touch the edge of the scar that was peeking from the neck of my shirt.  “You know that.”

I did.  Maybe I didn’t want to.  That thought didn’t disturb me as much as it should. Again. I should be keeping a list.

“You are better.”

“How can you tell?  With no humanity and all.”

“You baked." He paused, and I waited, able to tell there was more. "And you gave it away."

Vampires might not be human, but they have a remarkably good grasp of the behavior of their meals.  It was disturbing, as it was no doubt meant to be.

“I did.”

“You told me that you need to feed people.”

And he’d remembered it.  Still disturbing, verging on creepy, but - vampire. Creepy was a step toward the positive, there.  “I do.”

“It is as much a part of you as the things you still fear.”

It was, and that single observation settled me far more than any useless reassurance that everything would be all right.  Everything would  _ not _ be all right - but when was it ever?  I could still  _ feed _ people.  I would be able to go back to Charlie’s and not be paralyzed by the millions of ‘what ifs’.  I would be able to talk to Yolande, and maybe figure out what version of the truth to tell Mel, and finally have that fight with my mother.

“For not being human, you understand them very well.”

“We do have to eat.”

And with that chilling and deeply unsettling pronouncement, he was gone.

I sat down carefully in my kitchen, Con’s fictional account of events spread out before me, and thought about that.

I had to get my thoughts in order, put together a story that intersected with the events reported by Malcolm Connor, but did not repeat it.  I had to be prepared to face the Goddess of Pain. I had to realize and respect that Pat and Mel were attempting to protect me. I had to be thankful for the fact that Malcolm’s sudden departure would direct suspicion toward  _ him _ and away from me.  Hopefully.

Had Constantine come here to  _ reassure _ me?  Or just to make sure I could use his alibi to my best advantage?

We were bonded.  A… whatever I would turn out to be, and the darkest of Others.  Neither of us were human, and he preyed upon creatures like me. But -

I knew, without having to think about it, that I’d be seeing him again very soon.  Not because he  _ had _ to, but because he  _ wanted _ to.  Maybe that was the reassurance I needed, the surety that would allow me to look at Deputy exec Jain and hold off her trolling (maybe Yolande would have a ward for me).  The certainty that I would go on living (for a very long time) and learn who I was and what I was going to do with that long life.

And I would bake.

Because that was what I  _ wanted _ to do.

And perhaps my tiny rowboat would turn out to be seaworthy after all.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Sunshine is going to have to break it off with Mel in order to protect Constantine - and Mel. She is certain of this - and I'm not sure she's wrong.


End file.
